Book 2: Pregnancy
by WinterSunshine
Summary: The pregnancy, from her perspective... A mother's take on the hardest, most rewarding time of a young woman's life. Torn between Edward's fear and horror, and her own tender love for the growing child inside her, Bella doesn't know how the future will play out. All she knows now is that she cannot sacrifice one for the other... (Breaking Dawn Book 2 from Bella's POV)
1. Homecoming

**A/N:** So, this is something I've been thinking over for awhile—and quite honestly, have been quite baffled over. A huge part of me was upset that we missed Bella's perspective on her entire pregnancy. Maybe it's because I'm a mom, and I cherished those moments (the good and the bad, the gifts and the losses) no matter what they looked like. I realize SM probably had the second book in Jacob's perspective so we could get the whole imprinting thing, but I don't know. I've looked and looked, read and read more 'Book 2' ff's, but none of them ever held the degree of accuracy I had imagined in my mind.

So I figured, if I was going to be so judgmental and perfectionistic about it, why don't I just write it myself?

This one-shot is what most likely happened upon Bella and Edward's honeymoon home-coming. I may expand on it later, but not until I'm done with Daybreak. So for now, this is all ya get ;)

 **DISCLAIMER:** The characters are not mine, they belong to the amazing and talented Stephenie Meyer. Some of the dialogue is based off another fic I honestly don't know the name of (it's not on fanfiction) so I can't give proper credit, but nevertheless, it's due. REGARDLESS, this is a general disclaimer. It's safe to say I don't own anything! Just my own ideas!

…

The trip home passed in strange lurches and drags—whole bits deleted completely by my unending fatigue. While I was not sleeping, or staring out the window, I was throwing up.

Edward pushed both fluids and food on me at every opportunity, but the two were quickly becoming less and less desirable. My insides were ensnared in a vicious knot of turmoil, anxiety, pain and indecision; and nausea, always the nausea.

I loved them both so much—both Edward and the sweet, innocent baby that lived inside me. But it was clear Edward hated him, and as frightened as I was of this mysterious outcome, I could not give the baby up.

I loved this child with a love so completely all-consuming, it was unreal. I would do anything, _anything_ for him. There was a strange peace, in that aspect. I would do whatever it took to protect the child growing within me. I had Rosalie on my side. We would figure something out—something that appeased both mine and Edward's desires.

I had always been strong—stronger than the supernatural obstacles life threw at me. I would overcome this, too.

Warily, I tore my gaze away from the black night and turned to stare up into Edward's face. He was already gazing down at me, his topaz eyes a whirl of torment and agony. I had known he would put this entirely on himself; I had known he would blame himself, and jump to the worst conclusions.

But what if this wasn't as bad as he was making it seem? What if this was a beautiful blessing, a miraculous gift I had never known I'd wanted until now? I wished he could see past the insignificant blind spots of the unknown, and begin to rejoice in the pregnancy the way I was doing. I was going to hold on to this precious, unexpected gift for as long as I could.

Now, I rested my head on his cool, marble shoulder—which relieved some of the nausea—and brushed my hand over his forearm. Being airborne seemed to make the sickness worse, and Edward was sure to always have disposable bags on hand. The unused one I had now was clutched between my thigh and the armrest.

But more important in this moment than the queasiness, was to ease my husband's anxieties. I knew I couldn't make him see things from my perspective—Edward was stubborn in that way—but I could try to comfort him as best I knew how. I lifted my free hand to his neck, cool and unyielding against my palm. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around me.

But he mistook my attempt to comfort him for an extension of fear, reaching out for comfort of my own.

"Don't worry," he murmured softly in my ear, so that only I could hear, "We're going to take care of this." He smoothed his hand up my spine, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the words. His voice was raw with anguish, a strange note of metallic edge to it.

I didn't want to hear those words. I didn't want him taking my baby from me. Automatically, I was pulling away, turning my face to the window so he wouldn't be able to see the emotion in my eyes.

For the first time in my life, I was frightened of my husband. I was frightened, because I held something so precious inside of me, and he was eons stronger than me, able to overtake me with, probably, the minimal of effort. Would he take matters into his own hands? Yes, I knew that he would. If it were in the name of protecting me, of course he would. He'd hurt me before, in order to protect me from danger. I was helpless to protect the small being in my womb, which was why we needed to get home, so that I could be with Rosalie, who had promised, immediately, to help me.

I knew her motives were not entirely for the sake of my own protection. I had known that when I'd called her. I could only hope that her formerly unmet motherly instincts would be fierce enough to protect my baby for me.

 _It's okay, little nudger,_ I thought soothingly, dropping my hand to press it against the small, hard bump underneath my shirt, _It'll be okay. You're safe._

I leaned back against my seat, and awaited touchdown.

.

When we landed, the anxiety grew tenfold.

The time had come for me to betray my husband—I could not find a way to put the situation in a softer light. I was like Judas, delivering the kiss of death, pledging my allegiance to the opposing side.

But how could they not see how much more important this was—more than a leather satchel of silver coins, more than all the gold in the world? This was my _baby_ , the result of the pure love and light shared between Edward and I.

Though I had heard Kaure's words on the island, her delivering verdict— _morte_ —I could not bring myself to be afraid, not yet. When had anything else been worth dying for more? I had already gotten so much in these short eighteen years of life. I had met Edward, I had fallen deeply in love with him, I had made friends and extended family no one else would ever have been able to replace. I had found a second home with Edward's family. I had found Jacob, and the strength of our friendship—though I passed over this success quickly, as my betrayal to him still caused too much pain—I had been able to pledge to my family and friends that I chose Edward above all else, forsaking all else. I had been able to experience the most wonderful honeymoon I ever would have been able to imagine for myself—to truly discover how deep and wide our passion for each other could go. I doubted many humans had lived a better life than I had in my short years. So it was not reasonable to grieve. Life had given me so much more than I had expected to deserve.

Why should I have more time on top of all the unwarranted remunerations? It seemed implausible.

Acceptance swept over me, sure and swift, as we disembarked the plane and made our way up the gangway, to find our family in the throng. Edward's hands never left me. He was treating me as if I had become impossibly more delicate in the past however many hours it had taken for us to return home.

When we reached the terminal, Edward folded his arm around me. As much as it pained me to do it, I shrugged him off. I couldn't have him touching me when he finally read Rosalie's thoughts. I needed to get to _her_ before our cover was blown. I trusted in her, to think of anything and everything else as long as it took me to reach her—as she'd promised she would. But I couldn't have more obstacles in my way.

I wore comfortable Keds and flexible clothing. That was another advantage.

Another, the lack of baggage weighing me down. Edward had insisted on holding my carry-on bag—as if another ten pounds would cause me great harm.

He led me toward where his family must have been waiting in the bustling crowds. I couldn't see them yet, though I strained for a glimpse of the familiar, beautiful blonde who was now my only hope in saving my child's life.

I could feel my body responding to the anxiety of the coming moment. Both my breathing and my heart rate picked up. I could only hope Edward would brush it off as something inconsequential.

He paused then, pulling me easily to a stop. He rotated my shoulders so that I was facing him, and pulled both my hands into his, between us. His eyes hovered somewhere between the familiar tenderness from just a day ago, and the quickly spiraling agony of self-blame and remorse.

I couldn't resist the urge to comfort him once more, and he let me pull my hands from his so I could reach up to cradle his face. He gazed down at me with such torment that guilt twisted in my stomach.

"Edward, I…" I began, but trailed off, unsure. I grappled once more with my decision. Were there any words that would change his mind? I knew, that once I made my choice, the lines would be drawn. Each member of his family would take their stance. Some small part of me hoped, once he saw how passionately I wanted this, that he would side with me. But the bigger part in my mind knew that he wouldn't.

"It's okay, love," he murmured, "In a few hours, this will all be a bad dream."

Shock drilled through me like an ice pick. No. I had known where his loyalties laid, I shouldn't have thought otherwise. I closed my eyes and turned my face away before he could see the defiant rebellion that would assuredly rise there. I would not show him my fierce protectiveness. It would undoubtedly give me away, and I couldn't have that. Not yet.

"Let's go," I said, trying to keep my voice normal sounding, but I could hear the hoarseness in my tone. I only hoped he would chalk it up to apprehension over the pregnancy. It wasn't on my radar, however. I wasn't afraid of the innocent baby. I was apprehensive of the men who wanted to destroy him.

I turned away from Edward then, striding toward where I knew his family would be waiting, though I couldn't see them yet.

We wove our way through the crowd, Edward's hand sliding into mine, and I moved faster now, knowing she was close, in a rush to get to her now.

I saw Carlisle's face first, wrought with tension and anxiety. His eyes locked with Edward's, and I recognized his intense, concentrated expression immediately. I took advantage of Edward's inattention—reading Carlisle's thoughts, no doubt—and broke my hold. He didn't hold me tightly.

I lurched forward, tripping once, but kept going, prepared to feel his arms lock around my waist from behind. Would he stop me, here, in the airport? The way I staggered toward Rosalie, no one would suspect anything out of the norm. A tender duo of sisters or friends, greeting each other after a long time apart.

But as I raced across the small expanse of space between us, I knew better, and the emotion caught up to me.

By the time I was in Rosalie's open arms, I was sobbing. Copious feelings crashed over me, rampaging through my mind too quickly to process fully. Relief, anxiety, fear, heartbreak, love, gratefulness, desperation, guilt… It all overwhelmed me, and I was sure being pregnant didn't help my emotional stability.

Safe, I was safe here in Rose's arms, and all the tension I'd been holding in my shoulders released in one great gust.

One second later, Edward was there beside us, his hands on my shoulders.

"Let her go, Rose," he snarled, his voice like acid.

Rosalie didn't say anything, but she also didn't release me, from where her arms were locked around me, vise like. Unbreakable.

"I'm not going to let you act out your sick fantasies on my wife," he snapped.

So obviously, her thoughts were centered more around the safety of the baby, than my own. But that was fine with me. I felt the same way, and I did not hold any resentment against her for it.

I gazed up at Edward, his beautiful angel's face blurry through the sheen of tears, as he stared at Rosalie. I waited a moment, and when his gaze dropped to mine, understanding rose in his eyes.

"What's going on?" This was Carlisle, and he stepped over to join our closely huddled crowd, followed immediately by Emmett, who put a protective arm around Rosalie, around me, around the _baby_.

I had, of course, suspected he would take our side, but I had not allowed my hopes to get the best of me. The gratefulness I felt toward Emmett in this moment made my knees weak, and I was glad that Rosalie was holding me up.

Rosalie turned her icy glare to Carlisle's face. It pained me to see her do so, to direct such ire toward her father, her creator, but he had taken the same stand on the pregnancy as Edward had, and I _could not_ let them hurt him.

"No one is going to hurt this baby," Rosalie hissed, echoing my own thoughts.

First shock, and then horror, melted the confusion from Carlisle's face. Behind him, Alice moaned quietly, and for the first time I saw her. Jasper's arms were around her, and she had her fingers pressed to her temples, as if suffering from some sort of migraine. I could only guess that what she saw in her visions was unsavory—Rosalie's resolve probably firming up the inevitability of my fate.

But I couldn't bring myself to be concerned about that, because what ultimately happened to me did not matter. What mattered was the life of the tiny child inside me. I called to mind my predicted images… A miniature version of Edward, with his beautiful jeweled human eyes…

"Bella, sweetheart. Love. Let go of her. Come to me." Edward's voice was low and smooth, seductively velvet, and I wanted to obey his words. I wanted to press my face into his chest and allow his arms to wrap around me. But he wanted to kill my baby. Indecision dueled inside me, pulling me first one way, and then the other.

It pained me immensely to realize that I could not trust him in this moment. I turned my eyes to Rosalie's face, knowing I could trust her judgment. She shook her head slightly, and my heart fell. No. I could not go to him.

The resolve replaced itself firmly inside my chest. I was strong enough to endure this brief separation. I would do it for my baby.

I shook my head at him.

"Bella," he protested. His hand dropped somewhere near my waist, gripping Rosalie's wrist in his hand. She hissed menacingly at him, and Emmett took a threatening step forward. His eyes, too, were filled with resolve. He would not let anyone hurt Rose, and Rose would not let anyone hurt my baby. It was a win-win situation.

Then Carlisle was there, hands on each of their shoulders, breaking up the pre-scuffle. "Stop it," he ordered quietly, "Not here."

Edward released her hand, and I felt it wrap back around me reflexively, like a rubber band snapping back into place.

"Bella?" His voice trembled, and I could not resist lifting my eyes to his face once more. His eyes were clear and wide, beseeching, and the emotion I saw there tore at my insides. How it pained me to betray him like this. But I had to do what was best for the baby, to ensure its survival.

"Edward," I pleaded, "I want to keep this baby. When I heard what you and Carlisle were planning, I didn't know if you would listen to me, let me explain, if I could stop you. So I called Rosalie." Unable to look him in the eye any longer, I dropped my gaze to the floor.

Not only had Rosalie and Emmett made their opinions clear; now I had made mine, too.

"Let's discuss this at home," Carlisle murmured quietly.

Rosalie turned our bodies the other way, releasing me with one arm, keeping the other one tucked securely over my shoulders. We started walking toward baggage claim. Edward stayed close to my side, Emmett at Rosalie's. He threw occasional glances over our heads to check on Edward, probably wondering if he would attempt to steal me away.

The rest of his family followed closely behind, and we drew the occasional glance, grouped together so closely this way, but my sister-in-law and husband astutely ignored these looks, and carried on.

When we reached the vehicles—Edward's Volvo, and the Mercedes—Edward attempted to take me by the hand, presumably to tug me toward the Volvo.

"You're getting in a car with her over my dead body," Rosalie hissed over my head, unwilling to release her grip from around my shoulders—something I was grateful for.

"That's the plan," was Edward's menacing response. From where he stood so close to me, I could feel the rumble of a growl building in his chest.

"No, Edward," I insisted, "I think it's best if I ride with Rosalie."

I felt, rather than saw, Edward turn his eyes on me—sure that his shocked expression would have wounded me. I kept my eyes carefully averted to avoid the unnecessary jolt of anguish. I didn't want any more reason than I already had to feel horrible over betraying my husband in this way.

Thankfully, before he could say anything else, Rosalie guided me over to Carlisle's car.

I spent most of the ride home in tears. Rosalie's soft-spoken assurances were of no use. Nothing could touch the guilt or the shame I felt in betraying Edward.

We got home before they did, and we were on the porch waiting for them when the Volvo pulled in.

I didn't see Edward surge toward us—the movement was much too fast to discern. Only the thunderous sound of granite against granite told me what was happening. Emmett had cut Edward off just feet from where Rose and I were standing, their arms locked together, snarling teeth inches from each other's faces, territorial growls issuing from their throats.

"Stop it!" I screamed, the words ripping through my throat roughly, and laden with tears.

I was horrified, terrified, to see the trouble I'd caused my family. But how was I to stop it? I was unwilling to give my husband and father-in-law what they wanted. I could see no way to resolve the dispute.

"Quit it, Emmett," Edward barked sharply, not backing down, "I just want to talk to Bella alone."

Neither of them moved, but after a brief moment, I thought I saw Edward's stance relax. But I couldn't be sure, because in the next minute, Emmett had shoved hard against his chest, and Edward was flying backwards off the porch, sailing through the air and smashing into the car, shattering one of the windows.

"Edward!" The terror ripped from my throat. I couldn't help my horror-struck reaction. As if in conjunction with my thoughts, the baby moved inside me, poking softly.

 _It's okay, he's okay,_ I thought, running a palm soothingly over the crest of my tiny belly.

And of course he was. He was already standing, but made no move to re-approach us. Emmett did not back down from his protective stance.

I was sure Edward's intentions were pure—he would not harm me—but I couldn't be sure whether his desires to purely speak to me were true or not. Was it just another ploy to get me alone so he and Carlisle could take action against the baby?

I hated to doubt him in this way, but then, I had never thought him capable of hating something we'd created out of our own union.

Carlisle was in front of Emmett now, convincing him to go inside. We all moved that way together.

Unanimously, we walked together into the dining room. Rose sat at the foot of the table, pulling me into her lap immediately. I watched with wary eyes as the battle lines were drawn. Carlisle went to sit on the opposite side of the table from us, Esme sitting beside him. Alice next to her, still withdrawn and pain-stricken—I was alarmed at the amount of excruciating pain she seemed to be in—Jasper going to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders, rubbing softly, soothingly. Emmett stood behind us, and Edward paused somewhere in between, for merely half a second. And then he went to stand by his father.

My stomach clenched and twisted sickeningly, but it had nothing to do with the morning sickness.

How had it come to this? _Why_ couldn't they understand my viewpoint, as Rosalie did? Couldn't they see this wasn't a choice anymore—from the moment I'd felt that first, tiny flutter, all choice had been removed.

I could not risk the life of this tiny, precious soul. I _would_ not. How could they see such evilness in something that had only been created out of love?

"Okay—what is this?" Carlisle began once everyone was seated.

"I—we… Are not going to let you kill this baby," Rosalie barked.

"What is your role in this, Rosalie?" Carlisle inquired. I had never seen him like this before—the topaz in his eyes were pure jewels, hard and reflective. I could see that he was as firm in his resolve as I was in mine, and I could not let myself be swayed.

It was difficult to imagine a world where Carlisle was wrong—he had always been filled with such compassion, and a desire to pursue only what was righteous and true. But somewhere along the line, he'd gotten this wrong.

I was aware of the risk I was taking—but hadn't Carlisle taken risks himself, in order to save what he loved most? For a brief second, I could not comprehend his opinion on the matter.

"This is about Bella and Edward," Carlisle continued now, eyes leveled on Rosalie's face, "It does not involve you."

"The hell it doesn't! Bella called _me_. She called and asked me to help protect the baby from you. _Both of you_." She turned her glare on my husband, whose face was completely impassive. I stared up into his eyes, willing him to look at me, but cold droplets of icy dread slid through me at the expression on his face. He was the ice sculpture once more, stoic and aloof.

Esme gasped quietly.

"I know how you and Edward feel, and I don't know how far you'll go to achieve it. So I'm sticking with Bella, every minute, to help her through it and keep them both safe." Rosalie's gaze dropped from my face to the small, round bump protruding from between my hips, mostly hidden underneath the thin muslin shirt I'd worn on the plane.

It had been warm, hot even, in Brazil—but here, now, sitting on Rosalie's icy lap, I was beginning to feel cold.

I fixed my eyes on Edward's face.

 _I'm sorry, Edward. I'm so, so sorry._

Carlisle and Rosalie were quiet for a long moment, and then he sighed. I felt his eyes on my face then, though I did not look away from Edward.

"Bella," he said, "Don't be afraid. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe and healthy when we remove the… fetus. I can go over the procedure with you if—" But he didn't understand.

"No," I interrupted, a strange sort of strangled gasp as I tore my gaze from Edward's face and refocused on Carlisle's. His was filled with compassion and kindness, and while looking at him, it was difficult to remember that he was not on my side. "You don't understand," I told him, "I'm not afraid. I don't want you to take this baby away from me."

I looked at Edward again, beseeching him to understand, but he was resolute where he stood. He did not move.

"Oh, Bella," Carlisle sighed softly, "I have to tell you. You must understand. Carrying this fetus will most likely kill you. I'm so sorry, but this is the only way."

No. It was _not_ the only way. Who was to say that the Ticuna legends were just that—legends? Granted, I did not have very much luck in debunking the so-called 'stories' of the supernatural world, but I believed with enough conviction, regardless, for the both of us. I would survive this, despite what the Brazilian woman had said—if the stories happened to be true. I had faced death enough times to overcome this, too.

I was shaking my head fiercely. "No," I argued, "We don't know that. Why do you say that? This is our baby—Edward's and mine. We made it, and I won't let you hurt him."

Carlisle shot Edward an alarmed glance, and I watched him take a breath, breaking the stillness of his posture.

"Bella, angel," he pleaded, his voice soft and velvety, and oh-so-irresistible. "This… fetus… is not supposed to be in your body. We don't know what it will be like, what if might be doing to you right now." As he said those words, the baby bumped me softly from inside, and reflexively, one of my hands went to rest over my womb protectively. "What I heard on the island, is that it will be strong—it will hurt you." Then his voice dropped to barely a breath, his tone agonized, beseeching, his eyes burning with molten honey. "It will kill you."

Something in my face alarmed him—the panic grew incrementally in his eyes. But I couldn't bring myself to believe his words—not because I didn't believe they could be true, but because I knew myself. I knew my own strength, my own determination, my own resolve. I could handle this.

"Yes, Bella," Carlisle urged now, "We can't protect you from something we know so little about. Clearly, it's growing fast—too fast. We have to act quickly."

"Just superstitions… I will do anything to protect him."

" _Even kill yourself_?" Edward snarled, and I flinched at the malice in his voice.

When I leveled my eyes with his, his expression didn't change for a long moment. But when I stayed quiet, rending my answer that way, his face fell so quickly and so severely, it alarmed me. I had never seen such an agonized expression on his face—not in the ballet studio when he'd saved me from James, when he thought I'd been lost; not in Italy, under the torture of Jane's gift. I had never seen him like this—it was like he was on fire.

I felt the blood drain from my face at the sight of it.

"Bella, listen to Carlisle," Alice begged, speaking for the first time. Her voice was broken and quiet. This pained me, to know that my best friend would not support me through this—one of the most trying times of my life, yes, but when had my life been anything but? More than that, this was a time of deep joy, and gratitude. I had been given a gift so far beyond anything I could have imagined—a tiny, miniature Edward to hold—and so few people could share in this anticipation with me.

It twisted a dagger in my heart.

I was aware of the dangers, I was aware of the risk. But they could not understand the ferocity of my love for the tiny being inside me. I would do anything—even die, if it came to that, but I believed it wouldn't—if it meant he would live. And though I knew Edward's life was tied to mine an inexplicable way, that he would want to follow if I left, I could not bring myself to change my mind.

I loved them both. I wanted—no, _needed_ them both like I needed oxygen to pump my heart and lungs. But I could not sacrifice one for the other. I had to believe there was a part of Edward that loved this baby as much as I did. How could he not _see_ how perfect our little nudger already was?

I'd read somewhere that a woman becomes a mother when she discovers she's pregnant. So far, that had held true. I could only hope that the other part of the adage did as well—that a man became a father when he saw his baby.

If we could just get to that point, maybe he would see that this baby was worth fighting for, worth living for.

Part of my mind shied away from the black possibility—that I would not make it. More of my determination stood resolute in the willpower to fight my way through this and come out on the other side.

I could endure this—I would hold strong until the baby was big enough to live outside of me; and when it was over, we would all have forever together. I had to believe that.

There was no other option. And when there is no other option, you do what you can with what you have left.

I shook my head slowly, determined. "I can do this."

There was another brief pause, and some sort of exchange between Edward, Jasper and Alice. Behind the chair, I heard Emmett shift, and Rosalie tightened her hold around me.

And then Esme drew in a sharp breath, and my eyes flickered to her face. Edward gripped the back of his chair, bowing his head and shoulders as if whatever he had read in Esme's mind caused him great pain.

But when she spoke, a completely different kind of sensation filled me: an anesthetic for the anxiety and fear of the unknown. Her words soothed me.

"She loves him," she breathed, "I see now. She loves this baby."

Abruptly, I was overwhelmed with emotion once more, and the silent, strange tears washed my cheeks.

"I do," I murmured softly.

Esme's decision had changed everything—I didn't need to be a psychic or a mind-reader to see that. As she stood and rested a hand against Carlisle's arm, my plan seemed firmer than ever.

Carlisle would not go against Esme—and if Carlisle's mind had been changed, Edward's plan could not come to fruition. I felt horrible about the joy that pummeled through me at this thought—I didn't want to fight my husband, but I had to protect my baby.

"You can't do this, Carlisle," she murmured, eyes locked on his. His face was confused and drawn, but Esme's eyes were firm, resolute. "You can't take away this baby. She wants him. She loves him. It's her choice."

She came to stand by us, resting a cool, comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her, hoping my expression would be enough to convey the words that would not be enough.

Gratitude, stronger than I could say, filled my heart.

I heard Carlisle exhale heavily, and I knew in this moment that we'd won.

 _It's going to be okay now,_ I thought toward the bump, pressing my fingers against the rock hard protrusion. My baby prodded my hand tentatively, as if wondering if it was okay to come out from hiding now. I knew that was impossible, that the baby could not be developed enough to form coherent thoughts, but he was at least responsive, and I felt a burst of tenderness toward the small child curled up in my womb. _It's alright now, little one. You're safe. I won't let anybody hurt you._

Edward moved toward us slowly, and then Emmett was there, blocking my view, the muscles in his back tight with rigid defensiveness.

"I just want to talk to her," I heard Edward murmur, and his voice held no inflection, no emotion.

"You can talk to her just fine from over there," Rosalie snapped.

But he ignored her, and continued forward. Emmett let him edge passed, and I heard a small noise of disgust exit Rosalie's throat.

"You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to, Bella," she murmured lowly in my ear.

"No, Rosalie, of course I want to talk to him," I insisted, surprised that she would think otherwise. I turned my gaze on my husband who continued forward slowly until he dropped to his knees in front of me.

I loved Edward with an all-consuming, fierce kind of love. Despite our division and our obvious disagreement, that would never change.

"But please don't let me go, Rose."

I loved him, yes, but I didn't know if I trusted him enough to be without my baby's protector in this instant. The thought was sobering. There had never been a time where I had not been unafraid or trustful of Edward—even as the reflexive nature of his species stared me directly in the fact. He was _good_ , unerringly so, and I had always believed that to be of more importance to him—the drive to rise above what he so despised about himself.

But now, it was clear that he would do what he could to keep me safe, and to keep me alive. I did not put an ambush above him. I knew his motives, I understood them, of course I did. He had always been my protector, had always strived to preserve my human life in any way he knew he could. Of course he would react like this—it was ludicrous to think otherwise.

However, Edward had a tendency to overreact, and this was one of those cases.

Edward held out his hand to me, and I pulled mine from Rosalie's grasp, putting my fingers in his. He squeezed softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand tenderly. His eyes were a shade softer now, but his face still could have been carved from marble.

"Can't we speak alone, love? Just for a moment?" he pleaded, and I faltered, just for a moment.

"No, Edward," I finally mumbled, unable to meet his eyes, "Not right now."

I hated to deny him this, I really did.

"I'm so sorry." The emotion choked me, and hot tears sprung to my eyes. The guilt, the shame, the pain of the entire situation crashed over me anew.

"Don't do this, Bella. It's too dangerous."

I could see there would be no convincing him—but I decided to try one last time. I lifted my hand to caress the planes of his perfect face.

"I love you, Edward. And now I love him, too. He's yours and mine, part of us. I want him."

A small smile rose unbidden to my lips, the image of the tiny, pretty baby coming to mind once more. In my head, I could see it, the beautiful green eyes, soft porcelain skin—an exact replica of his father, unmarred by my imperfections.

Edward's eyes flared and then melted, and his brow knit, tortured. "Bella, it will kill you." His voice was rough with emotion. "Don't take yourself away from me. I can't live without you. There is no me—I don't exist without you."

I had never been one to believe in miracles of the divine intervention. But it was impossible to face that possibility down, now, with any sort of reprehension. What could this be—other than a miracle? I could not explain it—I could not explain the deep, unbinding joy I felt inside. I could not explain the confidence that tied into that bliss, the assuredness I felt. I could only describe it as a sort of faith—not in conjunction with religion or sacrilegious rituals or beliefs, but faith of the purest kind. I _had_ to believe this story had a happy ending. And it would not have a happy ending if I did not have my baby.

"Edward, I know this is right. Deep inside, I know this is not a mistake. It was meant to be."

He didn't say anything. His eyes fixed on mine, mutely, and his head rocked back and forth mechanically. His eyes went strangely blank, as if he were giving up.

"I'm not going to die," I vowed quietly, dropping my hand back to his and squeezing fiercely. _I'm not going to die._ "Carlisle will do everything he can, but if it's not enough…" I paused, wondering if I possessed that sort of strength, wondering if my willpower would be enough. Yes. It had to be. Otherwise, my beautiful son would not survive. I had to be strong enough for _him_ , and for Edward. Because I knew he would not survive if I didn't. "I'll keep my heart beating. I can do that. And you will save me." I could hear the steadfastness in my voice, firm and unwavering.

"Save you?" Edward spat, looking like he didn't quite comprehend my words, " _How_?"

Edward's head bowed, his forehead pressing against my knees. I could see he was suffering, could see he was battling with the fear, the trepidation, the self-doubt, possibly. But I believed in him just as much as I believed in myself.

I brushed my fingers through his hair. "Don't you want him, too? At all?"

He did not lift his head, and my stomach twisted. How could this be—how could I possesses such a huge love for this tiny being, and he could feel nothing, nothing at all?

Edward didn't answer, and in his silence, I found my answer.

 _No._ No, he did not.


	2. Exam

**A/N:** I have returned to this story, and I couldn't be more excited! As Darkest Hour is nearing its precipice, I thought I'd take a different route while I write up the rough drafts for Eclipse from Edythe's POV. Obviously, this won't be a long one—I say that now—so I thought it would be a good one to work on in the interim.

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When the sun had almost completely descended behind the mountain range, Esme insisted on making me something to eat. I didn't want to offend her, or worry Edward, so I acted enthusiastic about the soup she brought me on the couch, but I could only bring myself to take a few bites.

The thought of food nauseated me, turned my stomach in sickening swirls, and I knew that if I continued to force myself to eat, I would be sick. Fluids, in the same way, were becoming less and less palatable to me. The logical part of me knew I had to eat and drink, but the at the forefront of my mind, I could only focus on the dizzying sickness, and disgust. I hoped this phase would end soon, so I could begin to enjoy food again. The acceleration of the pregnancy most likely made the symptoms of morning sickness more severe—however, I hoped this also meant that they would pass sooner.

The expression I'd seen on Edward's face earlier had only grown in severity. I hated to know how much pain this was causing him. I could not fathom the anguish in his expression—I tried to compare it to tortures I knew. Being burned at the stake, boiled alive, undergoing surgery without medication… None of it was a close enough association to the affliction in his expression. The sight of it was like a physical blow each time I looked at him. It was more than grief, it was more than sorrow or anger or fear.

"Edward?" My voice sounded hollow and strange in my own ears, and I cleared my throat.

His eyes shifted to my face, emotionless. He didn't speak.

"Help me sleep?" I murmured, unable to resist the pull of sleep any longer. Our travels home had exhausted me. Someone had brought me a pillow and a blanket, and I curled up on my side on the couch gratefully. "Sing to me?" Part of my request was that I found great trouble falling asleep without his soft, crooning voice at my ear now. The other part hoped to distract him from his, I was sure, torturous thoughts, for just a little while.

He stared at me for a long, incomprehensible moment, eyes hard.

Would he not hold me in his arms? Would he never show that kind of affection toward me again? Was he so repulsed by the baby inside me that he wouldn't come near me?

Long-worn paths of insecurity and embarrassment rose up inside me. I couldn't help them. And then, much to my astonishment, I felt the hot glisten of tears rise in my eyes. Something about the pregnancy had hardwired every sensation to my tear-ducts. Now, it was more than anger that made me cry—in fact, it was any emotion with any kind of strength.

Something in his face shifted. "I'll play for you," he murmured in that same strange monotone, still beautiful, still perfect, but, somehow, hollow. Absurdly haunting.

He walked to his piano stiffly, shoulders folding forward. His gait almost reminded me of that of an old man.

He sat and began to play the composition he'd written for me so long ago. Gratefully, I closed my eyes, and drifted away on the notes of my lullaby.

.

I was bigger when I woke, sometime after dawn. I could tell.

I was sore, between my hips, the ligaments stretching past capacity much too quickly, and my body felt fuller, somehow.

When I looked down at my belly, my suspicions were confirmed. My womb had ballooned to almost three times the size it had been last night, and the baby's movements were stronger.

Esme made me eggs for breakfast, but I was not hungry. In fact, my stomach churned and lurched at merely the smell of them. Before long, I pushed the plate away, afraid I was going to vomit.

Rosalie sat with me on the couch, my feet in her hands, rapt with attention. She wanted to know everything about what I'd experienced up until now, every symptom, every flutter.

I tried to answer her questions judiciously, aware of our audience. Edward had left the room to speak with Carlisle, but I knew he would be listening regardless.

Esme brought me a glass each of juice and water, despite my refusal for both. I tried to placate my family, and took a tiny sip of each, but my stomach churned and burped with the invasion, and something about the smell of the juice turned me right off.

I put them on the glass table next to the cream couch and turned my face away from them both.

I tried to ignore the concern in Esme's eyes.

Carlisle and Edward came back into the room then, and my heart lurched uneasily when I saw my husband's face. It hadn't changed from the night before—he still looked like he was in agony. I worried about him, worried about the stress he was under. I wished there was something I could do that would make him feel better.

And then… I did not. Because I knew what would ease his worries, and I was unwilling to take that sort of action.

"Bella, would it be alright if we discussed your health now?" Carlisle inquired. I felt Rosalie's arm ease protectively around my shoulders, but I could not tear my eyes from Edward's anguished expression. "Rosalie will stay with you the entire time. I would just like to ask you a few questions, and take some measurements."

"Of course," I told him without looking away.

"I'd like to pinpoint the date of conception as closely as possible," he said as he perched on the chair next to me, and finally, I looked at him. His golden eyes were serene and calm, but I could see, buried underneath, his concern and his worry. He leaned toward me with his elbows on his knees, watching my face intently. "Normally, I would use the date of your last menstrual cycle, but with such a compressed timeframe, and such accelerated growth, I'd like to be particularly specific. Try to go back and think about when your symptoms began."

"Well… The vomiting didn't begin until the night Edward was away hunting." I shot him a quick glance. His eyes were leveled on my face, intense and still burning. "But then, before that, there were… Well, intense dreams… And the crying." I looked up at Edward again, recalling the night I'd been in hysterics over the dream I wished could have been real… And the path my tear-filled supplications had taken us down…

"But Bella, remember?" Edward urged, not catching onto my reverie, even though I could feel the blood flush in my face. "That first morning, you were so hungry."

I nodded in acknowledgment. I guessed I'd passed that off as a product of having gone so long without eating, and the long travels. But he was right. My appetite had picked up that morning, and had not settled down by any stretch of the imagination until the morning sickness had hit. Now, it was all but gone.

He and Carlisle exchanged one of their looks, and I wondered what that meant. But I got no answer to the thinly-veiled shock on Carlisle's face, and the dimmed flames in Edward's eyes.

"Okay then," Carlisle said, patting my leg gently as he rose, "If you're ready, Bella, let's go upstairs to my office. I'd like to examine you and take some measurements, so we can track the growth."

Then Rosalie was there, between me and Carlisle. "Absolutely not," she hissed.

Carlisle lifted his brows at her. "Rosalie," he argued, "I have an exam table up there, and appropriate lighting."

"No way," she protested, and suddenly I felt embarrassed. I wasn't sure if Rosalie's overzealous ways were necessary. But then Rose continued, and my thoughts changed, "I know what you set that room up for, Carlisle. I was there. I know what you and Edward plan to do in there. There's no way Bella's setting one foot inside that room. Not today."

I saw Edward step forward, fury clear on his face, but Carlisle put up a hand to stop him. Edward turned confused, beseeching eyes on me, but I could only look at him.

How could I go against what Rosalie was saying? I didn't know how far my husband and father-in-law would go to take my baby away. She had told me that I would need to trust her—trust her more than I trusted Edward, and I had taken her requests to heart.

The drama of the scuffle was embarrassing, sure, but I was determined to do what was safe for this baby, and the thought of stepping into Carlisle's office-turned-operating-room intimidated me, especially after what Rose had just said.

"This is ridiculous, Rosalie." Carlisle's voice was oddly irritated—I was still so used to his level-headedness—but I could also hear the submission in it, and relief stronger than I would have expected washed over me. "I suppose I'll do the exam here on the couch, then, if that's alright with you, Bella?"

I did not take my eyes off Edward's face as I answered. "Yes, that's fine," I assented. There was an odd storm of emotions in Edward's eyes. Frustration, confusion, indecision. I wished he would come to me, hold my hand, but he only stood as still as a statue, as Carlisle placed the instruments he would need in his examination on the coffee table beside him.

I held my breath as he palpated my midsection with gentle, cool hands. Inside, the baby remained very still, as if he could sense the hands touching him indirectly through my skin.

Now, I carefully kept my eyes away from Edward's face, watching Carlisle's hands drift over the skin of my stomach, pressing down in certain spots. It was strange to see how my body had already begun to change to accommodate the growth of the child inside me.

Around the small, balloon shaped protrusion, my skin was stretched tight. My midsection felt heavy and full, and as Carlisle pressed around it, the bulge did not give way to his ministrations.

Finally, he sighed heavily, brows knitting together slightly as he pulled his hands away and reached for his tape measure. I didn't miss the glance he and Edward exchanged, and I knew Carlisle was telling him something that he wasn't telling me.

He picked up the tape measure and measured my belly carefully, pressing the end of the tape measure into the soft part of my belly just above my pubic bone, pulling it all the way up to the peak of the bulge.

"I'm going to try and measure your progress every few hours. I know—" he added, noticing the surprised expression on my face, "It seems like a lot, but I want to be especially thorough until I can figure out a pattern to the development."

I nodded. That sounded reasonable. I reminded myself that, despite his earlier inclinations, Carlisle wanted to keep me as healthy as possible. But as much as I trusted him, there was a certain amount of trepidation that rose inside me when he touched me.

"Is that necessary?" Rosalie asked now, skepticism thick in her voice.

Carlisle leveled a hard glance at his daughter. "Yes, until I get an idea of the growth, unfortunately it's necessary."

Rosalie pursed her lips at Carlisle, but relented after a moment. "Fine," she finally murmured reluctantly.

.

When it seemed Carlisle was finished with me, I requested a shower. I felt groggy and out of sorts, a little jet-lagged from the long trip home. I felt hours behind, tense with stress and apprehension, and I knew the hot water would help me relax.

"You can use the bathroom in our room," Rosalie told me tenderly, rising so she could help me stand from the couch.

As I took her hand and pulled myself to my feet, dizziness rushed so potently between my ears that spots of black obscured my vision, and I warbled on my feet.

I felt more than one pair of cool hands on me, steadying me, but already the disorientation was fading.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I told them, "It's just a head rush."

I blinked and focused on Edward's face, which was inches away from mine. His arms were wrapped securely around me, supporting most of my weight, though I felt steady enough to stand on my own now.

For the briefest of moments, I could taste his sweet breath on my face. I stared deep into his honey eyes, wishing I could see some of the lightheartedness he'd possessed only days before. Now, there was nothing but stoic concern, and some level of wariness in those eyes.

He broke our point of eye contact, releasing me when he was sure I had my balance, pacing several feet away from me.

"Are you ready, Bella?" Rose said now, tugging on my hand. "Let's go."

I followed her reluctantly toward the stairs, unable to resist one glimpse backward. As Rosalie led me up the stairs, I found my gaze lingering on Edward once more, who was no longer watching me.

Instead, he stared out the back windows. The horrible, tortured expression was back on his face, and my heart sunk in my chest. The potency of his pain was so visceral it made me gasp—after all, his pain was my pain. It made it worse to know that I had something to do with his agony, as helpless as I was to change its course.

At my small sound, Edward turned, his eyes finding my face immediately. He must have seen something concerning in my expression, because he was immediately at my side. Rose's arm tightened around me reflexively.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, "Did it hurt you?"

"No," I said, affront clear in my voice, "But… are you okay?"

For one infinitesimal moment, his expression was void of emotion. And then he smiled a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm fine, Bella. Let's get you upstairs."

When he reached for me, Rosalie bared her teeth at him. He froze, his arms still outstretched, and I hesitated between the two of them. My gaze shifted from Edward's face, to Rosalie's, and then up the stairs. Carlisle's office was just past Rosalie's room, across the hall and down a bit.

I didn't think it through, or even mean to do it, but I shuddered and very slightly shifted my weight toward Rosalie.

I didn't see the offended response on Edward's face, because I purposefully avoided looking there.

After a moment, Rosalie began to guide me up the stairs again.

"I'll get you some clean clothes and your bag," Edward murmured, that familiar numbness back in his voice, and he quickly disappeared from sight.


	3. Confirmation

**A/N:** Hi, all! Here's the next chapter! Hope you're enjoying so far!

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Rosalie took me up to her bedroom. The area was ornately furnished with antique-looking pieces, including a lavish vanity in the corner and a lushly upholstered bed in the center of the room, atop a soft looking white rug. The bed was draped in an ivory duvet, accented with blush gold and purple decorative pillows and throw blankets. The vanity mirror was framed in gold, as well as the accents on the bureaus and intricately carved end tables.

The double doors to the en suite bathroom were open, and through them, I could see the elaborate sunken tub ringed with various candles and bath soaks.

Rosalie went to sit on the quilted ottoman at the foot of the bed, appraising herself briefly in the gilded mirror propped against the wall between the en suite and the walk-in closet. She pulled her soft blonde curls over one shoulder, and fluffed them just-so.

Just then, Edward appeared in the doorway with a stack of clean clothes for me, and my toiletries bag.

"It should all be here," he said, striding across the plush cream carpet and into the bathroom. He set the brown bag stamped in gold letters—some designer brand, I was sure—on the immaculate countertop. He set my clothes on the vintage-looking stool next to the tub and then came back into the bedroom.

"Thank you," I told him. My voice was muted and soft with apprehension, guilt and shame. His face softened in response to my quietly spoken words, what looked like compassion passing through his eyes.

"Of course," he murmured, "If there's anything else you need, I'll get it for you. I want you to be comfortable."

There was a brief moment of quiet. We all stood where we were.

"Alright," Rose finally said haughtily, "If that's all, then, you can be on your way."

"I'd rather stay," Edward retorted, and I could hear that it took great effort to keep his voice civil toward his sister.

"If you think—" Rosalie began, her voice sharp with defense.

"It's okay, Rose," I interjected, heat rising in my cheeks. "He can stay."

Rosalie appraised my face for a moment, and then slid narrowed eyes toward her brother's face. She pursed her lips and stared him down for a long moment.

"Are you sure?" she finally asked. "I can—"

"Don't worry about it. He just wants to stay close," I insisted.

She sighed through her nose, but merely shrugged her assent.

I turned my gaze back on Edward. Something about his stillness and expression made me jumpy. My stomach churned and twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the nausea.

"You'll stay, right?" I asked him.

"I'll be right here," he promised evenly.

Satisfied, I turned and headed for the en suite.

In my bag, I found what I needed, set the bottles of soap on the shelf in the huge tiled shower, and then stripped in front of the mirror.

For a minute, I didn't recognize the body reflected back at me. My face was familiar, though drawn-looking and slightly more pale than usual. But I was shocked at how rapidly the changes of pregnancy had made to my body. My mid-section and chest were both fuller, and underneath the fair, thin membrane of my skin, the blue maze of my veins was slightly more pronounced.

I turned to the side, examining my silhouette from the side, and smoothed a palm over the subtle crest of my womb.

As I stared, caught somewhere between confusion and awe at the miracle of what my body could do, the shape of my belly contorted. The baby wriggled inside me, and I both felt and saw the tiny thump.

I thought the running water of the shower would have drowned out my soft gasp of surprise, but half a second later, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Bella?" Edward called through, "Are you okay?"

My eyes locked on my own face in the mirror, my eyes wide and damp with tears of amazement. My lips were slightly parted, and my hand formed a tender cradle around the small bump between my hips.

"Bella?" he repeated when I didn't answer.

"Bella, I can come in if you need me," Rosalie called.

I swallowed. "I'm fine," I called to them, pulling my gaze away from my reflection.

"Are you sure, love?" Edward pushed.

"Totally," I assured him, and turned toward the shower.

The glass door clicked quietly shut behind me, and I let my eyes flutter shut when the hot water hit my skin, soaking through my hair and coursing in rivulets over the tense muscles in my shoulders and back.

I took my time under the water, just standing in the warm, damp heat for a while before lathering my hair.

When I finally emerged from the shower more than twenty minutes later, it was quiet in the next room, and I was glad. I had half expected my few moments of peace to be interrupted by their incessant arguing, but it seemed they'd at least found some mutual silence in my absence.

It wasn't until I opened the door after dressing and towel drying my hair that I saw why.

"Um," I said, stepping into the room, "I think I may need a different shirt…" The hem of the t-shirt Edward had brought me rode up over the ridge of my stomach just ever so slightly.

Rosalie chuckled softly, and I glanced up when I heard only her response. Edward was nowhere in sight, and I frowned. He had told me he wouldn't leave.

"He grows fast, doesn't he?" Rosalie said, and her sudden words spoken from just beside me, startled me. I jumped, turning sharply back in her direction.

"He?"

Rosalie's eyes were tender as she took in the stretched cotton of my t-shirt, and the blooming life underneath. "Not that I know for certain, of course," she said, a sheepish smile in her voice, "I'm just guessing."

I felt my own smile pull the corners of my lips up. "Me too," I confided.

"I guess we'll see," she mused.

For a minute, we stood quietly together, and I was suddenly thankful for the sister-in-law I'd never related to well at all, up until now. We shared the quiet moment in unison, an unspoken understanding passing between us. No matter what happened from here on out, we would forever be tied together by this occurrence. I knew that Rosalie would love this baby with almost ferocious a love as I already did—possibly, she felt that way even now.

"Thank you, Rosalie," I said, "For doing this for me."

"Of course," she replied, as if it were really no problem at all.

"I know how much trouble it's caused you, and I just want you to know that I appreciate it. So much. It can't be an easy thing to go against your family this way, and…"

"Bella," she interjected, leveling her soft, ochre gaze at me, "It wasn't a question you had to ask. I would have done the same thing even if you hadn't come to me first." She offered me a small smile, and then turned toward her closet. "Now—let's get you something a little more comfortable to wear."

.

The sun was just peaking over the tops of the trees when I stepped out onto the porch, scanning the surrounding area for a sign of Edward.

The morning air was crisp, just a touch cool. Somewhere high in the trees, a bird was singing its morning song. I could hear the chatter of the river just a short ways away, but other than the subtle ambiance of nature, there was nothing else but silence.

Rosalie had lent me one of her over-sized college sweatshirts—this one was from Harvard, and it was several sizes too big, but that was okay with me. The material was soft against my skin, which was beginning to feel itchy and tight.

As I stared into the gloominess of the trees, I caught a flash of white and bronze, and then Edward appeared, lithe and agile, at the edge of the trees. In the serene morning light, he almost looked calm from this distance. But as he crossed the lawn toward me, his expression belied his true feelings.

His pace slowed as he drew nearer, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. The same way it always did, whenever we were separated for even the briefest of times, the relief washed through me as potent as a hurricane. My heart slowed into a calmer pace as the distance between us closed.

Edward came up the porch steps and laid his cool hand alongside my face, his smooth thumb tracing the shape of my bottom lip. This simple gesture of affection brought thick emotion to my throat, and I closed my eyes against the onslaught.

Overwhelming joy and relief coursed through me. We _hadn't_ lost this part of ourselves, after all.

"I'm sorry I left you," he said quietly, his voice like an arpeggio against the soft dawn of morning. He very briefly and very gently brushed his lips against mine. Despite the chill of his mouth, I was suddenly filled with a swimming warmth. I felt my heart rate accelerate, as it always did when he touched me, and my head swam momentarily in response to the sweet fragrance of his breath.

"It's okay," I was finally able to breathe.

His hand drifted down to wrap around my fingers, and he led me down the porch steps, toward the water's edge. I could sense Rosalie trailing behind us, barely two feet away.

It was very quiet as we walked across the lawn at my pace, the chill of Edward's skin on mine somehow pronounced. The quiet stretched, long and poignant, between us when we paused at the edge of the river. The rising sun glittered reflectively off the rippling current, and I stared at it contemplatively.

I was at a loss for words. I did not know what to say in these moments. I'd said all I could yesterday, in the dining room. I'd pled my case, but still, Edward would not agree with me. I was torn between my own considerations and desires, and the fear of hurting Edward even more than I already had.

When I turned to look at him out of the corner of my eye, that familiar, anguished expression was back on his face; the mask, which he was usually so careful to compose himself with around me, had fallen once more.

I could not resist turning to him, lifting a hand to trace the perfect planes of his face. He didn't know the things that I did. He didn't have the same faith that I had, the faith that had me certain I would pull through this intact.

"It's going to be okay," I murmured to him soothingly. I examined the molten gold of his eyes for some sort of assurance, some calming affect from my words—but there was no change.

Just then, the baby kicked sharply inside me. The strength of it caught me off guard.

"Oh," I gasped, and automatically, my hand moved toward the protrusion of my uterus, pulling Edward's with mine. Tenderness filled me as our hands fell in unison against my stomach, but it was quickly, thoroughly, extinguished in the light of Edward's reaction.

A low hiss escaped through his teeth, and suddenly, his hand was gone—ripped from mine. When my eyes, wide and shocked, flickered up to take in his face, I was stunned by the ferocity and animosity I saw in his expression.

His jaw was set, the muscles there straining—and his eyes were full of hate-filled fire. As I watched, he seemed to take an involuntary step backward, away from me—from our baby.

I felt no resulting anger toward him in this moment, but the pain was sure and swift, crackling through my heart like a fissure. How could he hate it so much…?

"I'm sorry, Bella," he barely whispered, and I watched as he attempted to control his expression—purely for my sake, I was sure.

Suddenly, I was overcome with exhaustion. Not only physically—I was surprised by how much the short walk across the lawn had taken out of me—but mentally, and emotionally as well. For awhile, I would have liked to lay down and sleep, just to pass the time in peace.

I could watch the bright, swirling colors behind my eyelids for a time, instead of the anguish in the liquid gold of Edward's.

"I'm tired," I said, "I want to go inside."

Without waiting for a response, I folded my arms over my middle and turned toward the house. Rosalie's arm slid soothingly over my shoulders as we walked, and I rubbed soft circles over my belly, where the baby squirmed again.

 _I'm sorry,_ I thought toward the small, sweet child growing inside of me, _He just doesn't understand. He's scared. He'll grow to love you just as much as I do. I know it._

But part of me struggled to believe my own words. Would he? Could he move past his anguish and fear and anxieties and learn to love the child we'd created together? Or would this ruin him forever?

It had been barely forty-eight hours, but I already feared that I would never see joy in his face again—and this prospect distressed me to the core.

.

 **A/N:** I would love to know what you thought of this one!


	4. Decline

**A/N:** It's been awhile since I updated here, and I figured it was about time! :)

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When I wasn't sleeping, worrying or making near-constant trips to the bathroom—the pressure on my bladder was unreal—I was basically being smothered with attention—and food.

Eating was the last thing on my mind, especially as of late, as the morning sickness had taken on an entirely new proportion, but I did my best to eat what I could of what they made me. I didn't want to worry them—especially Edward—more than was necessary, and I knew it would increase his distress even more if I refused food as much as I would have liked to.

However, despite the constant nausea and unease, I hadn't vomited again since our trip home, and I was grateful for that.

I knew they were trying, even going out of their way, to placate me—which I was horrified by. So many things I'd loved to eat before had fallen to the bottom of my 'I Want To Eat Most' list. Pancakes, French Toast, pasta, soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, toast with peanut butter and honey, several different types of cold and hot cereal alike, with several different types of milk, eggs upon eggs upon eggs—made in various different ways.

By the third day, I was beginning to worry the Cullens' finances would take a major hit from the kind of money they were spending on groceries. And I felt all the more awful for it, because I was barely eating any of what they made me. Most of it ended up in the trash.

So, the next morning when I woke up ravenous, I was glad.

"I'm starving," I reported as I stretched. I'd felt more comfortable sleeping on the couch, though it was starting to take a physical toll on my hips and back. But I was completely unwilling to share Rosalie's room with Edward, which I knew she would insist on.

I wasn't a particular fan of revisiting the gold-swathed bed in his room, either. There were too many memories there.

"You know what sounds good?" I said as I rose, a little stiffly.

"What, love?" Edward inquired, his voice soft against the silence of the early morning. He leaned forward to brush my hair out of my face tenderly. Rosalie had relaxed her vigil just slightly over the past couple of days, seeming to have come to the realization that Edward was not going to go against my wishes now.

Still, she sat nearby in the armchair, as rapt with attention on my face as Edward was.

"A banana smoothie," I reported, sure that the entire house was listening, wherever the rest of them were. I hadn't missed the amount of time they'd suddenly dedicated to poring over recipes on the computer, and watching the Food Network, let alone the escapades they went on in the kitchen.

The television was a constant fixture now—I think they were trying to keep me either entertained, distracted, or both. I didn't have the heart to tell them it wasn't working.

Now, both Edward and Rosalie stared at me blankly for a moment.

Then Edward smoothed his features and said, "I'm sure we have the ingredients for that." He smiled my favorite crooked grin, and then rose sinuously from the couch, striding from the room and into the kitchen.

Quiet sounds floated from the room toward me, and I wandered toward the back glass wall, needing to stretch my legs. It was warmer here, by the windows, and I rubbed my hands together gratefully in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the glass.

While I was noticeably losing weight in my face and my limbs, my midsection continued to grow at an astonishing rate. The others—all except for Rosalie—seemed horrified by this, but I was glad. Despite the inadequate nutritional intake, my baby was still thriving. Not only did I know this because I continued to grow so rapidly, but because the baby was quickly growing stronger.

Of course, it made sense that he would be strong. He was, presumably, half-vampire after all. I felt sorry for the poor thing. As rapidly as he was growing, he was probably cramped for space inside my less-than-adequate belly. He moved more frequently now, and sometimes the jabs made me flinch.

I did my best to hide the uncomfortable sensations, knowing it would only concern and anger Edward further. It wasn't the baby's fault, after all. He didn't know his own strength, he only needed to stretch, to move, to flex his little legs and arms beyond the space he had allotted.

The round ligament pain was worse, as well as the heaviness on my midsection. I constantly felt like I was being pulled forward, and my back was definitely taking a toll. Whatever encased the growing baby perplexed Carlisle. He said its shell was made of something that felt like vampire skin—hard and impermeable. It made perfect sense that the same material would be heavy, as well.

A moment later, I heard the jangle of keys and the back door slammed shut. Emmett, I assumed, had been sent out on another errand to buy something they didn't have on hand for my special order.

Guilt immediately washed through me. I would have made do with something else if they didn't have what they needed here. Emmett had been sent on numerous trips the past few days—at least twice a day. And not just for food, but to the movie store and local bookstores, too.

They seemed intent not only on overwhelming me with food, but spoiling me with more reading material, cinematic entertainment, puzzles and Sudoku puzzles than I knew what to do with. Most of it sat abandoned in a woven basket by the couch, which I felt awful for, but I just didn't have the energy for most of it.

Edward re-entered the room then and came to stand by me. He took my hands in his and pulled my arms up around his neck. He'd made every effort to remain close to me in the past few days, but I could still see the distance in his eyes. He was, as ever, terrified and unbelievably stressed, but he was trying to hide it from me.

This, somehow, made it all the more worse.

"Hi," he murmured softly now, gazing into my eyes. His irises were shifting from honey to amber, growing darker as he grew thirstier. Soon, I would have to convince him to leave so he could hunt. But if he was unwilling to leave my side to go to the store for something, I could only imagine how much more difficult it would be to convince him to leave to feed himself.

"Hey," I replied, and smiled up into his face. It felt good to have him close. I felt less shaky, more grounded. I hated feeling alone in this, and when he was here, speaking to me, touching me, it made things feel much more bearable.

Edward lowered his lips to mine, and for a moment, I was lost in the waves of bliss. I ran my fingers errantly through his hair, slipping my fingers underneath the collar of his shirt to feel his skin, shifting closer… And then Edward froze. He had become a statue, because where our bodies were now touching, the hard bump of my belly pressed against him.

Immediate recognition coursed through me, followed by the icy spike of heartbreak through my veins. Quickly, I pulled back, putting the inch of unnecessary distance between us.

Edward remained unmoving, his pale lavender eyelids just inches from my face. When they opened, I could see the clear remorse there, the guilt and shame. He released me all except for one hand, and lifted it to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. He flipped it over and kissed my palm as well, his eyes brimming with apologies.

 _It just surprised him,_ I reasoned with myself. The guilt in his eyes was all the apology I needed. He wouldn't hurt my feelings on purpose, of course.

"Want to go on a walk with me later?" he finally asked, the moment of error seemingly forgotten.

I smiled and nodded. I loved our daily walks down to the river, through the freckling of trees by the water.

Edward turned his face halfway toward where Rosalie was sitting. "Please feel free to join us, Rosalie," he said, just a tinge of sarcastic remark evident in his tone.

Carlisle had bore Rosalie's over-protective nature with the utmost of patience, after that first day. He'd done his cursory exams on the couch, recording my growing numbers in a small black notebook. Edward, however, did not have as much patience for his sister as his father did. I watched, several times, as he clenched his jaw, flattening his lips into a thin line, as if holding back the physical force of the words I was sure he would have liked to say to her.

But I could not resent Rosalie for her overzealous defense. It was what I had asked for, after all. Several times I felt that maybe she was taking her fortuitous measures too far, thinking there had to be an easier way, but it would all make sense afterward, as she explained her reasoning behind her ministrations.

The best chance for the baby's survival, she reiterated time and time again, was to keep a safe amount of distance between myself and them at all times.

But Rosalie was unaware of just how much pain it caused both me and Edward to be apart. It had only taken a day or so to realize that, as much as he abhorred it, he would not do anything to hurt me. It had taken me hours to realize that, yes, he had hurt me in the past—but at the cost for nearly both his life and mine. He'd promised never to do something so foolish again.

I understood that it was difficult for him to see me go through hardships, to struggle. But what he didn't know was that all the aches and pains were, so far, completely justifiable. It was all worth it, it _would_ be worth it.

I did not give up hope that I would eventually sway him to my side of things.

Edward lifted his head, tuning in to something that I couldn't hear, and made his way back toward the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard it too—the car returning. Emmett was back.

A few minutes after that, I heard the whir of the blender in the kitchen. Edward came out with a tall glass a moment later, the edges frosty from where his skin touched and cooled the crystal. There was a straw stuck in the smoothie, and I eyed it with the first hint of hunger I'd felt all week.

He passed it to me, and then took a couple steps back, clear distaste on his face. I knew human food didn't smell appetizing to vampires. I also knew they'd all put up with the unusual habit in favor of finding something for me to eat. Only Edward had brought me the smoothie, but I knew they all would be listening eagerly.

Somewhat self-consciously, but unable to quell the ravenous eagerness inside me, I ignored the straw and swallowed the smoothie in a matter of gulps. It was delicious, and the perfect consistency. The flavor was mild and cold on my throat. It settled happily in my stomach, and I licked my lips, satisfied when it was gone.

"That's good!"

And it was true. It was the tastiest thing I'd had to eat in awhile.

But it was only a few minutes later, when I had settled back onto the couch, that I suddenly didn't feel well. It was an unexpected twist in my stomach, and the contents of the smoothie lurched toward the back of my throat before I could stop them.

The sudden nausea was so unprecedented that I didn't have time to run for the bathroom. Instead, on its own accord, my body pitched forward, rejecting the smoothie onto Esme's plushly carpeted white living room floor.

Through the roaring ringing of my ears, I heard Edward gasp my name, and then felt his cool arms around me, supporting me, as I vomited again.

"I'm so sorry," I gasped weakly, leaning against the chilly, sturdiness of his chest to steady myself. The frostiness of his skin helped, as I suddenly felt hot and sweaty.

"Oh, Bella, no," he soothed, "Don't be sorry. You should never be sorry." His marble lips touched my forehead, and he wiped down my clammy skin with a damp towel someone had brought.

I wanted to insist, when Esme and Alice knelt at our feet to clean up the mess, that I help. It couldn't have been a pleasant thing for them to do, and of course, I was responsible for the probable stain they would have in their carpet now. But I felt suddenly too weak and exhausted to do anything but slump against Edward.

This episode of vomiting had felt so different from the previous morning sickness. The horrible sensation had come out of nowhere, abruptly overpowering, and the force with which my body rejected the smoothie had been strange. As if it was no longer the mere effects of morning sickness, but as if my body were rejecting the food like it would reject an organ after a transplant surgery. As if food was no longer compatible with my body.

Horror-stricken anxiety lanced through my brain like a sword, and the panic reared, heavy on my chest. If I couldn't feed the baby, what would happen? Surely nothing good could come of it…

Vaguely, I heard Edward whispering soothing words of encouragement, but before I could process them, or worry anymore about the baby, I was suddenly sick again—the same, gut-wrenching unmatched powerful lurching and retching.

Esme was ready with a small bucket this time, bringing it up and under my chin just in time to catch the foul expulsion.

When I had finished, she rose to rinse and clean the bucket. But she was only halfway to the door when the horrible vomiting overcame me again. It was so forceful this time that it pulled me from my unsteady seat on the couch, to my knees on the floor.

Several voices chorused my name, but I could barely hear them through the roar in my ears. I felt feverish and freezing all at the same time, shaky and raw.

Cool hands sat me back against the pillows on the couch. A palm touched my forehead, the same fingers pressing softly against my wrist. Edward enveloped both of my trembling hands, and I knew, that if my eyes were open, I would see the pure horror, shock and concern on his face.

But I was exhausted from the horrible spell and could not summon the strength to pull my eyelids back, or even to speak.

Edward pulled me close, rocking us both slightly, back and forth.

"You're okay, you're okay," he murmured softly, again and again.

.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way. The vomiting did not cease. I was unable to keep anything, even the slightest sip of water, down. In response to consumption of any kind, I immediately vomited it back up.

Even in absence of fluids, which Carlisle eventually insisted upon, at least for a little while, I continued to be sick.

Between the painful, forceful episodes, I slept fitfully on the couch, only to wake and vomit again.

Everyone was attentive and concerned. I wanted to insist that I didn't need the attention, but I could not muster the strength to say so.

I hoped the rotating cool, damp cloths on my forehead would help, but they didn't. I hoped the anti-nausea medication that Carlisle insist I take, at little to no risk to the baby, would help—but it didn't. Nothing helped.

As the hours stretched on, the dehydration worsened, and soon I could think of nothing but the thirst. Every cell in my body ached for water, but Carlisle insisted we should wait.

I begged Edward for water, just a sip of it. "Please, Edward," I moaned, "I'm so thirsty."

Edward, from where he sat on the floor by my head, bucket in his lap, waiting and ready, looked up at Carlisle, who was standing behind the couch. "Please, Carlisle," he whispered, "It's been twenty minutes. Let's give her something."

But Carlisle, wordless, only shook his head in denial.

The sob hitched in my throat, stealing my breath. The pain of it was impossible, unendurable. It wasn't a dryness in my throat, nor a craving for the cool taste, but it was a deep, visceral need. Everything in me screamed for the liquid. I could think of nothing else; nothing could distract me from the thirst.

.

"Where have _you_ been?"

The distance of Edward's sarcastically spoken remark surprised me. I hadn't seen him get up. I had my eyes closed, and my body felt limp with exhaustion, but I could not succumb to sleep. The thirst was too distracting.

"How's Bella?" Rosalie's ringing voice responded, laced through with concern. Edward did not seem to sympathize with his sister, and if I'd had more energy, I would have wondered at the mechanics about that.

Edward said something too low and fast for me to hear, but I could hear the way the vicious words twisted the velvet of his voice into sharp edged glass.

"I _do_ ," Rosalie retorted.

Edward said something else equally as venomous, and I tried to tune out their arguing. It only made me feel worse.

Then there was a splintering sound, and the thunderous noise made me jump several inches, my eyes flying open. I turned my eyes toward the kitchen, and saw Edward and Rosalie barely a foot apart, Rosalie leaning against the cracked archway. Carlisle was there between them, muttering tersely, at too low a volume for me to hear.

I watched through half-opened eyes as Carlisle reprimanded them for whatever had caused their scuffle. I heard my name mixed in with his rapid-fire words, and when their heads turned toward me, I quickly shut my eyes again. This time, I must have fallen asleep.

.


	5. Slip

**A/N:** Hey, guys. It's been awhile. This bit has been sitting in my Documents folder for awhile now. I must have forgotten about it. Sorry about that! Fully intend to continue through with this until the end, but it comes in starts and stops amongst my own mothering missives ;). Thanks for being so understanding! xo

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The pain, a strange blow to my stomach combined with a cramp with the force of a steel vice, woke me.

I wasn't fully awake yet, only half aware of my surroundings as cool arms scooped me up, and a honeysuckle-sunshine breeze blew against my face. The edge of another pair of hands, the upstairs hallway, and then a room that was entirely unfamiliar to me.

As the last of the delirium faded from my head, Carlisle pushed my shirt up to examine my belly.

Automatically, I felt myself shrinking away from the scrutiny, one hand coming up to cradle my baby. I felt Rose take my other hand, and my anxiety eased some, knowing she was here for me, for _us_.

Edward's eyes flashed with terror and rage, the darkening ochre of his irises almost wild with the strain of his concern.

I saw now, the error I had made. I must have somehow made them aware of the discomfort that had woken me. Had I flinched in such a way, cried out? But just as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone. It would probably leave a bruise—I could feel the throbbing—but really, it was nothing.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I protested as Carlisle gently prodded, his eyes intent on my face as he watched for my reaction. I could see now that not only had my unconscious distress gathered the attention of doctor, husband and sister—but Esme was there, too, and Alice and Jasper lingered in the doorway. Emmett was behind Rosalie, a protective hand on her shoulder.

"It was just a little kick," I insisted when they all ignored me, "It hardly hurt."

Edward made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. It sounded like a growl. "Bella, you are not fine," he snapped, "You screamed in your sleep. We all heard you."

"It just surprised me, I guess," I tried to lie, but didn't think I succeeded. I avoided Edward's knowing, suspicious glare, and cursed my nocturnal vocal habits, not for the first time.

"There's no need to totally overreact," Rosalie interjected, her tone bright and cheerful. As she spoke, I glanced around the room I had formerly thought was so unfamiliar. Now I recognized it.

Carlisle's office had been transformed into a high-tech mini hospital. Most of the equipment I didn't recognize. His desk had been removed to make room for the wide exam table I was now laying on. A light board hung behind the bed, and there was an industrial looking refrigerator in the corner.

"What happened in here?" I murmured, "Where did all this equipment come from? Where's your desk, Carlisle?"

Carlisle smiled as he continued to examine me, nudging my ribs and hipbones. "Emmett put it in the garage. This equipment is for you, Bella. We're not taking any chances."

I started to roll my eyes, but just then, Carlisle pressed down—just barely—on the tender spot. I feared I didn't mask my grimace in time by the reaction on Edward's face. All the color seemed to drain from his visage, as he stared where Carlisle's fingers had touched.

When I glanced down, too, I realized why his reaction had been so severe. A large purple bruise was forming where the baby had kicked.

"Oh," I breathed, surprised. It was nothing, of course. It looked worse than it really was. I bruised easily—and Edward knew that. But the expression on his face belied his true feelings. The burning self-hatred was back. "Bound to happen, I guess," I continued, hopeful that I could brush this off. It made sense, with the baby's ever-increasing strength, that I would come out of this with a few bumps and bruises. They would fade in time.

Something I'd said made Edward draw in a sharp breath, and when I looked into his face again, he was staring at me in furious disbelief.

"I bruise easily. Always have. You know that, Edward."

He only turned his suddenly beseeching gaze on Carlisle.

"Bella," he said softly, turning soft, compassionate eyes on my face as he pulled my shirt down again to cover my skin, "this is exactly what we feared, and this is only the beginning. The fetus will continue to grow and get stronger, and the resulting injuries will only become worse in severity. There is still time to act, to try to get it out. I will make every effort…" He paused briefly. "… To try to get you through it, still human."

Abrupt confusion tore through my mind. It had only been a couple of weeks—hardly enough time for the baby to be considered viable, even with an accelerated pregnancy such as this one.

"Get it out?" I repeated, "But it might be too soon. He might not be able to survive on his own yet."

Something incomprehensible flashed across Carlisle's face, and he looked down at the floor for a long moment. Finally, he returned his gaze to my face. "I didn't mean that it would survive, Bella."

Rosalie hissed, and I felt her cool hands ease over my shoulders. Realization dawned, and it was like another strike to the gut. I felt my face harden in reaction to his words, and my hands drifted to settle over the swell of my womb, proprietorial.

"Why are we even talking about this then, Carlisle?" I demanded. I could hear the edge of metallic anger in my voice. "I thought this was clear. Decided. I am seeing this pregnancy through to the end. No one here is thinking otherwise, are they?" I raised my chin a fraction, my eyes flickering around the room to meet each of its occupants' gazes.

My gaze lingered the longest on Edward's face, waiting for his answer. His perfect lips parted, and then closed. For the first time ever, he looked completely and totally at a loss for words.

He reached for my hand, taking it in both of his. He smoothed his cool thumbs over the back of my hand, and then moved his fingers alongside mine, weaving them together. He lifted my hand to his lips, and as he lowered it, raised his eyes to mine.

"Bella." His voice held the texture of rough silk, raw and exposed. "I can't let it hurt you."

The affront flickered briefly behind my sternum, but I reminded myself that there was no need to be angry with him. He was afraid, confused, and he did not know what was to come. Instead of arguing, I tried, again, to soothe him.

"I can do this," I whispered to him, not allowing my gaze to waver from his for an instant, "I am strong enough to do this, and I will do it. You know that, right?"

But he didn't have a reply for me. We stared each other down for a long moment, until finally, Carlisle cleared his throat.

"The ultrasound machine will be here in a couple of days," he reported, possibly as a means to change the subject, "We'll know more then. For now, I'm going to take an x-ray, just to be sure I don't see any other injuries."

I balked. How much money were they going to needlessly spend on me?!

"Ultrasound machine? X-Rays? Here?!"

I watched as Carlisle pulled the portable machine over to the table, positioned it over my midsection, and took a few pictures. Edward watched with a hardness in his eyes, and after Carlisle was finished, carried me back downstairs while we waited for the films to develop.

He set me gently on the cushions of the couch, and then went to stand by the glass wall, staring out at the scenery beyond. I wanted to say something to make him understand, to assuage his worries, but my head was spinning again, my stomach churning.

I let my eyelids fall shut, effectively blocking Edward's worried expression from my mind. Again, I wished for sleep.

.

I slept restlessly that night, the pain somehow intensified in my unconsciousness. The same, colorful, vibrant dreams painted pictures in my mind.

At one point in the night, I could have sworn I was lying in the gold bed in Edward's room, and that he was kneeling over me.

"I love you, Bella. I'm here," he said, his cool lips brushing over my cheeks, my nose, my lips.

I clung to the dream obstinately, wishing it wouldn't have to end—but eventually, it slipped away from me.

.

The next few days continued in a similar fashion as the past.

Food remained entirely unpalatable to me, and the brief glimmer of hunger I'd felt the few days previous was all but gone now. Nothing sounded good. In fact, _everything_ sounded revoltingly awful. Just the thought of food made me nauseous.

They continued to urge me to drink. The sips that I was able to keep down were few and far between.

More rapidly than before, I could tell I was losing weight. As I became smaller, the baby continued to grow, and I was grateful. As awful as I felt—sick, weak, exhausted—I was happy. I was happy, because my baby continued to thrive, to gain strength.

I did the best I could to hide the discomfort, but I feared I wasn't thorough enough in keeping my mask upheld. The baby's kicks and punches became more than just mere discomfort; they caused real pain now. But I couldn't let Edward see the way the baby was hurting me. He wouldn't understand it was all for a good cause, he wouldn't understand it didn't matter to me in the long run.

I could endure this now, for the reward I would receive later.

I just had to be strong. I just had to hold on.

.


End file.
